


The Long Arm of Hartlepool

by Fiorenza_a



Series: Dagenham & The Bay of Naples [3]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorenza_a/pseuds/Fiorenza_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie stood at the window of the flat happily engaged in sipping tea and watching Doyle. Irresistible little s*d was leaning into his car, arse in the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Arm of Hartlepool

 

Bodie stood at the window of the flat happily engaged in sipping tea and watching Doyle in the street below. Irresistible little sod was leaning into his car by the driver's door, arse in the air, grappling with something on the passenger's side.

Whatever the dozy pillock was doing, you had to hand it to the lad, he was nothing if not public spirited. Bloody national treasure that arse. Real morale booster. Well it was definitely boosting Bodie's morale. Not just his morale. Quite a boost to other bits of him too. Couldn't do anything about that though, not while Doyle was still in the street. Pretty sure there were bylaws about that. Probably best to wait until Doyle was indoors again. After all he was employed to uphold the law. At least he was employed to uphold those bits of it Cowley didn't find obtuse. Actually, come to think of it, sod the law, he was pretty much just employed by Cowley.

Still, fairly certain Cowley's version of lavender and roses didn't include setting the net curtain brigade all of a twitter by having your wicked way with Doyle under the canopy of a London plane tree. Better to wait until the scrawny git had finished flaunting himself and come in. Cowley would expect that. Probably in the small print somewhere, just after the bit that made malt whisky compulsory.

Irresistible little sod had found whatever it was he'd been looking for and was locking the car. Had to be said, front view of Doyle wasn't entirely without merit either. All grin and curls. Man could do a lot worse. 'Course the front view did have other things to recommend it. Denim encased things. Lot to be said for the things you could find in Doyle's jeans. Bodie's appreciation of heavy gauge cotton had risen considerably since meeting Doyle.

Now the dozy pillock was waving something at him, all zip-a-dee-doo-dah. Smile and wave your mug back in salute, mad little bugger will like that. Yes, that's right sunshine, I mean you. Still happy Doyle was a good thing. Made up for putting up with disgruntled Doyle, and pensive Doyle, and just-got-out-of-the-wrong-bloody-side-of-the-bed Doyle. Hard work was Doyle. Not for the faint hearted.

Still kept life interesting. Between Doyle and Cowley, Bodie couldn't remember his last dull moment. Knackered moments; soaking wet and chilled to the bone moments; starving and can't get a soddin' bite to eat moments; why the bloody hell am I doing this and ready to jack it all in moments. But not dull. Definitely not dull.

Doyle was bounding across the pavement now, curls bouncing all over the shop. He'll jump the garden wall and take the stairs two at a time. Get here a bit breathy and all aglow with pleased-with-himself. Have to take advantage of that Bodie me old lad. Only one reason for having time off and it isn't drinking tea. Although, to be fair, tea had a lot going for it. Doyle could be felled quicker by the deft application of a decent cuppa than by a swift kick to the crown jewels. And was a lot more useful afterwards. All's fair in love and war.

Here he comes. Doyle in a sunny mood. Mark the diary. Day to remember this one.

''Found it'' accompanied by the soppy git's happy toothy grin.

Humour the little basket. Happy Doyle less certain than the weather forecast. ''Found what?'' Bodie raised his mug in the hope of getting things moving in a more useful direction. ''Want some tea?''

''This'' accompanied by more of the daft wazzock's happy toothy grin. Great. Doyle waving a map. Half his bloody life with his nose stuck in an A-Z and now the dozy pillock wants to spend his free time, no stuff that, our free time, with it stuck in a map. Aggravating little sod would test the patience of a bleedin' saint.

Still, keep smiling Bodie me old son. Don't let Goldilocks get you rattled. Stay cool. Drink some more tea. Sweat it out.

Now there's an idea....

Aggravating little sod pointing now; pointing at....the Brecon bloody Beacons. Wales? What? No. Sod 'what?'. Why?

Deep breath and ask the question Bodie me old china, hope the answer doesn't mean you have to punch the aggravating pillock. ''Wales?''

''Yeah, thought we could go camping'' accompanied by the little sod's enormous toothy bloody grin. Right, that does it, no choice, definitely have to punch the aggravating pillock. Still, stay cool. First try and find out what the mad little bastard thinks he's doing.

''Ray, you mad little bastard, what do you think you're doing?''

''Be fun. Used to go camping when I was a kid'' accompanied by, and this one took some beating, aggravating pillock's nostalgic bloody toothy grin.

That was enough. Bodie had been camping as a lad too. Borth and Aberystwyth. Lizards and shady streams. Ice creams and camp fires. Rain and squabbling. Mildew and rows.

Not to mention Bodie had been 'camping' in Africa, and had been 'camping' in the name of defending the bastard realm. Come to think of it, fairly certain some of that had been in Wales. Bloody Wales.

Right, voice of reason. ''Ray, what's fun about freezing your vitals off in the middle of sodding nowhere? I've done it mate, but at least then I was getting paid for it.''

''You're getting paid for it now, we get paid holidays.'' Oh wonderful. Pedantic Doyle.

''Not exactly what I meant Cherub, and you know it.''

''C'mon Bodie, it'll be fun. Sharing a sleeping bag, nights in the village pub. Fresh air. We never get any fresh air.''

Bodie raised an incredulous eyebrow ''We get nothing but bloody fresh air. When's the last time either of us put in a full day at a desk?'' Quick, forgot, Doyle in pedant mode. ''Barring injury.'' Nice save Bodie me old son, you can be proud of that one.

''Naturist beach not two miles from the camp site.''

''Thought we were going to the Beacons?''

''What made you think that?'' Puzzled Doyle. Always entertaining, puzzled Doyle.

''Because you had your sticky little mitts all over them on the map.''

''Did I?''

Bodie's eyebrow felt the need to crawl towards his hairline again. Doyle's survival chances much beyond the North Circular were nil. Beyond hope. Not evolved for it. Niche habitat.

''Ray, do you know where Wales is?''

'''Course I sodding know where Wales is. Just because I didn't spend half me life on the bloody Serengeti. I have travelled.''

''From Derby?''

''Don't get smart with me mate.'' Belligerent Doyle. Always entertaining, belligerent Doyle.

And a bit dangerous. Probably best to try and calm him down. Don't want the little sod exploding. Far better use for all that energy. Soon as we put the stuffin' camping to bed.

Now there's an idea....

Right, voice of reason. Again. ''Why don't we just stay here? You know, get our kit off, explore our lascivious natures....?''

''We can do that in Wales.''

''Yes Ray, but why travel a couple of hundred miles to do what we can do right here, in comfort, without the sheep?''

''What have you got against sheep?''

''I don't have any sodding thing against sheep, I just don't want to share me bloody sleeping bag with one. I like my sheep to come with mint sauce and a decent mash.''

''Thought sharing your sleeping bag with one was mandatory in Wales.'' Now the infuriating pillock was actually smirking at him. ''National bleedin' pastime.''

Right that does it. Stuff the voice of reason. ''Raymond, my little angel, I am not going to sodding Wales. Not in a tent, not with a sheep, not bloody at all. OK?''

Oh sodding hell. Now the little bugger looks all crestfallen. Quick, have to think of something to cheer him up.

Bodie considered for a second or two, put down his tea and then with his usual degree of enlightened self interest reached out and snagged Doyle's belt buckle, pulling him off balance and into his arms. Doyle opened his mouth to protest and found it full of Bodie before he could draw breath.

Bodie, teasing and insistent and not taking no for an answer as fingers that could strip a gun without conscious thought unhitched his belt buckle and eased their way into his jeans, sliding across his backside and crushing him, hip to hip, against the unmistakeable evidence of Bodie's intentions.

Fingers that were still travelling. Seeking a home. Bodie kneading at his arse, groping for entry. Little explosions of joy as Bodie slowly pushed an exploring digit into him. Bodie's heavy voice whispering impishly into his ear ''Time for bed, said Zebedee.''

Doyle was feeling a little light headed and off balance in more ways than one. This was Bodie's answer to everything. Didn't matter what the problem was, this was Bodie's solution. And just for once, he didn't want it to be. Just for once he wanted Bodie to talk to him. Persuade him without taking his clothes off. And all the time Bodie was moving inside him, driving his need and want and making him feel cheap and used and weak for needing and wanting it.

He pulled out of the kiss, breathless and burning, murmuring into Bodie's ear ''Stop. Please.'' Bodie grinned and made a sudden movement inside him, firing not pleasure but anger. ''I said stop. Now.''

Bodie instantly tensed and became still in his body. ''Did you mean that?''

Doyle nodded solemnly, still in Bodie's embrace, and felt the gentle tug as Bodie pulled out of him. Feeling the bewilderment in the touch that left him. Saying to Bodie ''You always do this, whenever we should be talking, you always do this.''

''I thought you liked this?'' The bewilderment had moved. Now it was in the voice that spoke to him. Bewilderment and hurt. And that wasn't good enough. Bodie didn't have a right to feel rejected. It wasn't Bodie who'd had his childish romanticism crushed so comprehensively. OK, so the surly sod didn't want to go camping. But the surly sod didn't want to do anything else either. Bed and work and a few takeaways. Then more bed and work. And it had been enough. More than enough. But it couldn't go on being enough. Not anymore.

They were mates, partners, they talked everything over. Agreed on everything together. Except here, except with this, when Bodie didn't talk, when Bodie made rules and cajoled Doyle into following them with sex.

And for a fling, for fun, for something that wasn't serious and couldn't mean anything, Doyle would make those compromises. Just to be with this man. To have something of him that he gave to no one else. When it couldn't last. When it wasn't real.

But it had lasted. It was real. He had more of Bodie than Bodie had ever given before and Bodie wanted to give more. But it couldn't be like this. Not on Bodie's old terms because Bodie's old terms were designed to keep it casual, to keep it just for fun, to ensure it didn't last. Because that was safe. Because that meant Bodie didn't have to talk.

''It can't always be about bed Bodie.''

Bodie was staring at him as if something precious had shattered unexpectedly in his hands. Beautiful pillock looked lost. ''Didn't think it was mate.''

''OK not camping. Not bloody Wales and sheep. But what Bodie? What? Because you never want me this way outside these four walls, unless it's your four walls, and there has to be something wrong with that. There has to be.''

''I'm not a bird.''

''Yeah, I'd spotted that.'' Talent for the bleedin' obvious Bodie.

''I like bed.''

''Yeah, I spotted that as well you monster, but we have to be more than that or what's the point?''

''We are more than that, wouldn't walk into a firefight without you mate.'' Romance, apparently, Bodie style. The birds got dinner.

''Getting my arse shot off protecting yours was not exactly what I had in mind.''

''Me neither mate, bloody magnificent arse, wouldn't want to see that damaged. Have quite a few plans for that arse.'' Bodie was waggling the finger he had so recently used in teasing said arse and leering at him with a mixture of conciliation and lewdness uniquely his own.

Doyle felt laughter bubbling up inside him and suppressed it immediately. This had to get sorted. Now. Today. Before it poisoned and destroyed everything. But the exquisite bastard wasn't making it easy. ''Go and wash that and I'll put the kettle on, we have to talk.''

''Yes dear'' Bodie fluttered eyelashes, his patronising lifted direct from the nineteen-fifties. But the tight lipped bastard hadn't argued. This was important to him too.

Doyle put the kettle on and rehitched his jeans before grabbing a couple of mugs and some tea bags. He made two mugs of tea. Bodie appearing silently beside him to take one of them from his hands. Deep blue eyes uncertain and insecure, but a challenge in the set of his jaw. Bodie was hurt and he had hurt him. He had the power to do that, Bodie had given it to him.

''We never talk'' Doyle began.

''Nothing to talk about'' said Bodie, because there wasn't. All things considered he felt himself pretty well served. Mad little bugger on tap day and night. What needed talking about? Pretty nigh perfect arrangement if you asked him.

''I need to talk'' Doyle amended with unpractised patience. Bodie was all attention, but the poor baffled sod still looked out of his depth. It wasn't just Bodie's patronising that came direct from the nineteen-fifties. ''I need this to be more, I need us to be more'' Doyle reiterated.

''Yeah, you said, no point otherwise, I heard that. No idea what else you think we can be though mate, not like I can put a ring on your finger is it?''

''Would you want to?'' Doyle asked before he could stop himself.

Bloody stupid question. If anything was likely to frighten the flamin' horses that would. Bodie's eyes had gone from uncertain and insecure to just plain terrified, but the unbelievable bastard actually looked like he was trying to find an answer. Age of miracles apparently not over. Wonders never ceasing.

Bodie's voice dropped to the sort of awe filled hush he should have reserved for the library but never did. ''Thought about it'' he said, looking as if he'd just been caught mixing Cowley's whisky with lemonade.

Doyle would have said something, but his voice had snagged itself somewhere on his incredulity and wasn't working. He took a minute to find it and use all his erudition to come up with the splendidly incisive ''What?''

''Thought about it'' said Bodie again. And then, because he hadn't disorientated Doyle enough for one day, added ''Might have been nice. You know, if we could.''

''But you didn't want to go to Wales'' was all Doyle could think of to say. If this degree of linguistic dexterity kept up they'd be after him for Poet Laureate. Doyle's brain took a short holiday to conjure the image of Bodie quoting _him_ to Cowley over the airwaves on a crisp autumnal morning. Talk about down the bleedin' rabbit hole.

''Been camping'' offered Bodie, incisive wit clearly being the order of the day.

''You never said you felt this way about things'' said Doyle. This had started out as a straight forward row. He was going to yell at Bodie for being Bodie. For risking everything by not communicating. Bodie was going to yell back. They'd end up in bed. Sometime after that everything stood a chance of being alright. That was the plan. Bodie had wrecked it. Wrecked it? Bodie had driven a coach and flamin' horses through it.

''Done enough camping'' was Bodie's considered response. ''Will if I have to, but prefer a nice cosy hotel. Had enough of waking up cold and hungry.''

''Not the bloody camping you pillock'' said Doyle reasonably. ''Us. You never said you felt that way about us.''

''Didn't know I had to'' said Bodie, bewilderment written all over him.

''We never go anywhere. You never take me anywhere and you've been pretty bloody clear you don't want me to take you anywhere. It's just your place or mine. Bed and a takeaway, how am I supposed to guess from that?''

''Yeah, but you're not a bird'' replied Bodie. If the stupid bastard looked any more confused it'd probably be kinder to put him down.

''No'' said Doyle with exaggerated patience, prepared to concede the point as a magnanimous gesture of goodwill. ''But I'm not on the bleedin' game either. I want more than a shag and the price of me taxi fare home.''

''We do go out'' said Bodie, suddenly inspired. ''Went to the pub Friday, didn't we?''

''After work. As mates. Two games of darts and a packet of peanuts. Hardly Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard was it?''

Impossible pillock had just casually let slip he'd considered happily ever after; you'd think the contrary bastard would be up for a dirty weekend. Doyle couldn't remember it ever being this much hard work with a bird.

''Why do we have to go out?'' asked Bodie ''I like what we do when we stay in. We'd get arrested trying that outside. It's not like I'm trying to pull you is it?''

''Yeah, and maybe that's the problem. I'm too easy'' Doyle couldn't keep the bitter edge from his voice. Oh yeah, he had Bodie alright. On Bodie's terms and on Bodie's terms only. Who did he think he'd been kidding? Bodie hadn't given him anything, it was all on loan, could be repossessed at any moment. He'd been an idiot to think otherwise. This was all Bodie had to give. If it wasn't enough that was just too tough, because there wasn't anything else.

''You're not that easy mate'' muttered Bodie. ''Bleedin' impossible, more like. Is that it then? Go to Wales or go to hell. Is that what you're saying?''

Un-bloody-believable. The dozy bastard still thought this was about camping. If Bodie had been this bad with a gun he'd never have made it out of Africa, probably would never have made it into Africa. How had the dozy pillock survived this long on his tod?

Somewhere deep in the labyrinthine recesses of Doyle's mind a penny clanged.

Bleedin' hell. On his tod. Bodie had always just moved on. Bodie had never done this before. Bodie had no idea what he was doing. He was all at sea with no compass and was just doing what Bodie always did; whatever it took to survive. The beautiful bastard would just keep going until something stopped him. Cowley's little soldier.

Doyle suddenly remembered a long forgotten row. It'd been the same then. Bodie caring enough about the job, about him, to be angry that he'd not followed procedure. As frustrated and uncomprehending as he was now. And just as bewildered when Doyle's reasons had revealed how much he cared in return.

Bodie's compassion was a one way street. He never looked for it to be returned. Never expected it to be returned. Never comprehended when it was.

Stupid bastard doesn't understand. It was that simple, the stupid bloody bastard simply didn't understand.

OK spell it out for the beautiful oaf. Nice and simple, just like he had before, in the warmth of that summer's day.

''Bodie. If this is something you want, you have to hold on to it. You have to hold on to me. Make me feel it. We're on the streets and I know you're with me. I feel it. I don't have to look for you, I know you're there. I want to feel that way about this.'' Doyle paused, and then to make the position absolutely clear for his dimwit of a partner ''We don't have to go to Wales for that to happen'' and then for total clarity, given the poor confused bastard's current expression, ''or camping.''

''You don't feel like you've had back up?'' asked Bodie quietly. The look in his eyes would have broken flintier hearts than Doyle's.

Those bloody eyes. Could pen you a sonnet, could those bloody eyes. But this had to be sorted and there was no going back now.

''No'' said Doyle ''felt like the monkey on the string.''

Something flickered in the back of Bodie's eyes; those bloody eyes. He remembered that day too, but all he said was ''Oh.''

Then he just stood there, blank and immobile. A hulking great study in misery and Doyle had created it. The artist at work. Oh wonderful Raymond, you've finally found a language the impossible bastard understands and bloody shredded him with it. Bang up job. Proud of yourself are you?

Doyle moved forward, reaching for one of Bodie's hands, which the stricken oaf was just allowing to hang at his sides. Bodie made no move to comply or deny. Doyle held onto the hand as he sashayed as close into Bodie as he could get, until he could feel Bodie's gentle and slightly uneven breathing against his face. Then he just buried his head against Bodie's shoulder and waited and hoped.

An eternity of minutes passed and then Doyle felt Bodie move. Felt his free hand find a place on his back. Holding him in the gentlest of embraces. Bodie could be so very gentle. ''I don't want to go to Wales'' a deep whisper into the air beside Doyle's ear ''I want to go to bed.''

'''Course you do'' said Doyle and stepped back, still holding the hand he had captured and turning to lead the way, but Bodie remained rooted, bringing him up short. Doyle turned back to face him, tethered by the hand.

''After dinner'' said Bodie, as stoically calm as he would have been in front of a firing squad.

''Dinner?'' queried Doyle, eyes vying with his smile for luminosity.

''Take all me birds to dinner'' said Bodie in a shaky facsimile of his usual airy confidence. ''Age of equality, equal pay and all that, s'pose I'd better take me fellas too. Don't want anyone thinking I'm a chauvinist.''

''Boat might have sailed on that one mate'' Doyle advised him kindly.

''Misunderstood, that's me'' said Bodie moving in on him and murmuring as he found Doyle's mouth with his own ''tragedy of me life. Need rescuing by a handsome prince'' then he felt Bodie's lips curl into a trademark smirk as Bodie added ''but I could settle for a gobby frog.''

Bodie's actual words finally sank in through Doyle's haze of happiness ''What d'you mean 'fellas'?'' he protested belatedly into Bodie's mouth.

Doyle felt that bloody smirk again as Bodie managed to enquire ''Jealous?'' without relinquishing tenure of his lips.

''Don't bloody try me Bodie.''

''Might be worth it just to see you go all Frankie and Johnny on me'' said Bodie, releasing him.

''You bloody dare Bodie'' Doyle threatened, stupidly near tears. How did the pillock always manage to do this to him? He was still the only man he'd ever cried for.

Bodie suddenly moved and lunged for him, throwing him over his shoulder and marching with him to the bedroom. ''You said 'after dinner''' Doyle protested in bounced and juddering tones.

Bodie dropped him to his feet in front of the wardrobe. ''Never going to get there if you keep talking and I'm not going out with you dressed like that, put on something decent.''

''You went to the pub with me in this the other week.''

''Yeah, well, weren't doing it properly then were we?'' responded Bodie, possibly the only person in the long history of human evolution ever to sound arrogantly bashful.

''And now we are?''

''And now, D'Oyly Carte, we need to get a move on, so get a move on'' Bodie instructed, turning him so he was facing the wardrobe. ''Normally pick the birds up after this bit. Don't normally have to wait. Well at least you won't want to put on makeup and there's no hope for that hair, so I'll just go and 'ave another cuppa and read the paper while you get dressed.'' Bodie dropped his head back round the door as he left to gift him with ''Exit, pursued by a bear.''

Doyle stood in front of the wardrobe, stomach knotted and fluttering, wondering exactly what had just happened. Bodie was seriously intent on taking him on a date. So seriously intent he had politely left the room to allow him to dress. Bloody hell. Bodie. Bloody hell. He was going to be sick. Or faint. Or both.

He reached a shaky hand for the wardrobe door and pulled it open. Then he stared at his clothes for about five minutes. He only had one suit and a couple of shirts Bodie actually approved, the rest he just accepted as part of Doyle, but would have needed anaesthetising before being seen in them himself.

Doyle reached for the suit. His arm felt like lead. His head was swimming. He'd felt light headed all day. He let the hand drop back, mindlessly fixated on his clothes.

He was still there when Bodie returned, some while later, pointedly looking at his watch.

''Aren't you ready yet?'' he asked redundantly.

Doyle was still staring into the wardrobe.

''Doyle?''

Doyle turned to face him. He was ash pale with a subtle green tinge.

''Ray?''

Doyle suddenly pushed past him and barely made it to the bathroom in time before dropping to his knees and heaving his guts up.

Bodie followed. Eyed the wreckage from the bathroom doorway and cocked an eyebrow before observing ''I'm not going to believe I'm the father. I'm on the pill.''

Doyle rolled back against the side of the bath and raised defeated eyes. ''Pillock'' he managed before he was sick again. He was sick twice more before the vindictive sprite released its hold on his stomach.

Bodie had doused a hand towel and was wiping him down with the damp coolness of it. Cleaning him up. He handed Doyle the glass of water he had on standby. ''Rinse your mouth out, then sip and try and keep it down this time'' he advised sagely.

They both waited until it seemed clear that Doyle wasn't going to throw up again. ''Up you come Raymond me old lad'' said Bodie pulling him to his feet.

''What about dinner?'' wailed Doyle plaintively.

''I'm considering myself stood up'' said Bodie wryly. ''Anyway you're too ill to come across tonight, be a waste of money.''

''Bastard'' said Doyle as Bodie deposited his limp remains on the bed.

''Yeah, but I'm your bastard'' said Bodie.

Doyle eyed him from the bed ''Are you?'' he asked, fighting fatigue to stay awake long enough to hear the answer.

''Never in doubt'' said Bodie brushing a hand over Doyle's eyes to close them.

''Always in doubt'' snuffled Doyle sleepily without re-opening them.

''You're hard work Detective Constable'' replied Bodie ''but I love a challenge me. And it's just possible I might love you. Now go to sleep.''

''Yes Sarge'' mumbled Doyle, dopey voiced and drifting between realities.

In the morning Bodie found himself once more happily engaged in sipping tea and watching Doyle. Doyle was pottering about in a dressing gown. Not his; Bodie's. Doyle's dressing gowns, like unicorns, tended to be rarely found and impractical beasts. Bodie's were more of the towelling hug variety and much better suited to the needs of a recuperating and fragile Doyle. Not that he would ever have described Doyle as fragile to his face. Touchy little sod packed an explosive punch, regularly deployed just after his mouth and some time before his brain.

Bodie had been home while Doyle had slept. He'd showered, shaved and changed, grabbed some provisions from his kitchen and picked up the dressing gown. This had not been the wisest start to the day.

He'd found Doyle sitting over a stone cold and untouched cup of tea when he got back. Doyle was freezing to the touch and still in yesterday's clothes. Daft pillock must have thought he'd done a runner. Changed his mind. Seen an easy way out and taken it.

He manhandled Doyle to the shower, stripped him off and dumped him under the warm water until he looked less alabaster and more lobster. Then he washed Doyle's hair for him. Which Doyle had just about tolerated. Then he had wrapped him in the robe and manhandled him back to the living room to dump him on the sofa. He'd put the kettle on and pulled the duvet off the bed and dumped that over Doyle before making the tea.

He brought Doyle's tea over with his own and sat in an armchair to watch Doyle as he slurped his way down the mug. When Doyle had finished and was casting about for somewhere to put it down Bodie took the empty mug from his hands and said ''Sleep.''

''I'm OK, I'll get up now'' argued Doyle.

''OK'' said Bodie ''but in about ten minutes the sedative I put in your tea will kick in and I'll just pick you up from wherever you've dozed off and bring you right back here.''

''You bastard'' said Doyle.

Bodie beamed at him like a kid with a new bike on Christmas morning and said nothing. Doyle bowed to the inevitable and closed his eyes and was asleep again within minutes.

Bodie read for a bit. Did the crossword and the washing up and waited until Doyle resurfaced a little over an hour and a half later.

''Feeling better?'' he asked cheerfully.

''You bastard'' repeated Doyle.

''You needed it'' said Bodie.

''Only because you doped me'' accused Doyle.

Bodie shook his head ''Nah not me Gov. Made it up. You're such a stubborn prat you wouldn't have listened to reason. When you thought you had no choice you gave in and got some sleep.''

''You arrogant bastard'' said Doyle.

''Yeah, but I'm your arrogant bastard'' beamed Bodie.

''Maybe'' conceded Doyle. ''Buy me breakfast and then you can take advantage of me weakened state.''

''I'll make you breakfast and if you can manage to keep it down, I may be persuaded to contemplate your most improper proposal'' replied Bodie loftily.

''Bastard'' said Doyle.

So Bodie was making breakfast. His idea of breakfast. The sort of breakfast that could put a curl in your hair and a spring in your step. Doyle must have been hungry because he hadn't said anything about muesli or arteriosclerosis once. He was just pottering around the flat in Bodie's dressing gown, fiddling with the stereo, tidying his books, checking ornaments for dust, restless in his own fussily masculine way. Bodie gave the sausages another poke and resumed sipping his tea and Doyle watching.

Little basket's hair had dried naturally and been slept on without benefit of a comb. The result looked like a slowly unfolding explosion. Bodie ran a hand through his own recently shorn locks. Comforted by their resolute determination to stay in place, falling back into line as his fingers passed. All little soldiers in a row.

Still, couldn't help watching Doyle's bob and weave as he pottered. Flashes of leg and thigh as he moved. It was doing interesting things to Bodie's equilibrium knowing Doyle was naked under all that terry cotton.

Doyle picked up another bit of china, turned it over in his lethal and artistic hands and blew on it to shift some residue of dust invisible to Bodie. Doyle's places were always cluttered with ornaments. Bodie didn't have much time for knick-knacks, the only time he ever usually noticed an ornament was when he'd broken it.

''Tea?'' enquired Bodie.

Doyle replaced the trinket and looked at him for a long moment before saying ''Thought you'd gone. You know. Before. Thought you'd gone.''

''I know mate. Wrong though weren't you? I'm here. No idea what I'm doing mind, but I'm here. Good enough?''

''Good enough.''

So that was settled then, thought Doyle. One row over camping and a gippy stomach later and it was settled. Beautiful smug oaf sipping tea in his kitchen. Beautiful smug oaf sipping tea in his kitchen and making him breakfast. Beautiful smug oaf sipping tea in his kitchen and making him breakfast and promising he'd stay. Bloody Bodie. Bodie would stay; Bodie didn't make promises he wouldn't keep. Oh he'd lie, dissemble, prevaricate, cheat and double deal, but he didn't make promises he wouldn't keep. It was one of the beautiful bastard's few flaws.

Bodie grinned. Little basket was looking quietly happy. Sort of happy he only looked when something really mattered to him. Not the grinning ninny happy he did when his horse came in or he'd pulled some bird Bodie'd been after or they'd got one past Cowley, but the sort of happy he looked wrapped in Bodie's arms, spent and drowsy. Was that all the little tinker had needed? To know he wasn't going anywhere? That this was important? Soppy sod should have known that. Bleedin' obvious, he was here wasn't he?

Right this was getting him nowhere. Get some decent sustenance down the scrawny git. Get that robe off him and then take full advantage of the little sod while he was still all dewy eyed. It was all a man really needed; a decent breakfast, a good strong cup of tea and the promise of a happy and compliant Doyle between the sheets.

The going out would take a bit of getting used to, mind. Couldn't see himself holding hands with Doyle. The odd dinner might be nice though. Daft pillock scrubbed up quite well when he put his mind to it. And if the odd fishing trip ended up with Doyle in his bed instead of the barmaid, he could live with that. Soppy sod might even get him into a tent again, if it was that important to the daft bugger.

He was dishing up now. Two plates piled with cholesterol inducing, artery clogging, calorie laden goodness. Even the tomatoes and mushrooms had been fried in the lard he'd used for the fried bread.

Doyle had seated himself at the table and was actually gleefully rubbing his hands together. Bodie deposited a full plate in front of him. ''Get your laughing gear round that mate. Do you a world of good, put hairs on your chest'' he pulled playfully at the collar of Doyle's robe to peer down his torso ''not that you need much help in that department, if they sheared you in the spring I could probably knit a jumper with that lot.''

''Gerroff'' protested Doyle, batting Bodie away and reaching for a knife and fork ''bloody starvin', this should hit the spot though. Thanks mate. Any sauce?''

Bodie obligingly produced two part used bottles of sauce, one red, one brown, and deposited them on the table in front of Doyle.

''They're already open.''

''Yeah, it was a bit early for the shops so I raided me kitchen.''

''Been a bit of a pain recently haven't I?''

''No more than usual'' said Bodie affably ''getting used to it. Might get bored otherwise.''

''What we doing today then?'' asked Doyle, as neutrally as he could manage, keeping his eyes on his plate.

''Well, I have this mad little bugger needs seeing to. Followed me home one night. Can't seem to get shot. Might have to marry the bastard.''

''Don't think even Cowley could swing that'' said Doyle ''why don't we just stay in instead?''

''You'd be OK with that?''

''Yeah. More than OK. Got this partner see. Has these urges. Bloody lascivious urges. Need to keep that off the streets. Might run amuck. Cross to bear and all that.''

''Pillock'' said Bodie fondly.

''Yeah, but I'm your pillock'' said Doyle almost shyly. Trying it on for size.

Bodie beamed. ''Never any doubt mate. Now finish that and get your kit off.''

''Bet you don't say that to the birds.''

''You'd be surprised my old son. Nothing like the direct approach.''

''Frontal assault you might say'' smirked Doyle.

''Raymond Doyle, you little tinker. How crude. I prefer to think of it as streamlining the process. Cutting out the waste on account of how conscientious I am'' said Bodie piously, adding prosaically ''Finished with that plate?''

Doyle nodded and Bodie took the plate to deposit in the sink with his own. Then he turned and said ''Right then Detective Constable Doyle. Constabulary duty's to be done. I'm sure I heard a noise in the bedroom. I think we may have burglars. Or a mouse. Possibly mice. Armed and dangerous.''

Doyle smothered a snigger in a cough and in the closest he could get to a baritone said ''Don't worry Madam'' which earned him a misaimed dishcloth ''I shall investigate. I suggest you keep behind me.''

''My thoughts exactly'' confirmed Bodie.

Doyle picked up a wooden giraffe from its home under the table lamp and held it as he would a truncheon. Bodie tucked himself in behind Doyle. Unnecessarily close and with his hand on Doyle's towelling clad rump.

They approached the bedroom with as much hilarity as caution. Giggling and whispering. Doyle put his fingers to his lips as they reached the door. ''Shhh'' he said as sternly as he could brandishing a giraffe and with Bodie's fingers kneading his rear end.

He lurched through the door in a travesty of his training, looked around wild eyed and then straightened. ''The miscreants appear to have absconded Madam'' he announced.

''Sir'' corrected Bodie.

''Sir, the miscreants appear to have absconded Madam'' Doyle dutifully amended.

''Got the place to ourselves then do we officer?'' asked Bodie moving in with nothing but menace in his eyes.

''Bodie...'' Doyle backed up to the bed.

''Always heard a policeman had the time, never met one with the inclination before.''

''Bodie...'' Doyle had crawled onto the bed and was kneeling up, having abandoned the giraffe in favour of a pillow.

Bodie launched himself and landed, sprawled on top of Doyle, pinning him to the bed.

''You weigh a ton'' protested Doyle.

''Yeah, need to work off some of that breakfast. Any ideas?''

Doyle made a show of considering the request ''Nothing comes to mind.''

''Sure?'' asked Bodie tugging at the belt holding the robe together.

''Mind a blank'' said Doyle as Bodie pulled the robe open.

''Absolutely sure?'' asked Bodie tugging at a nipple with his teeth.

''Can't think of a thing'' Doyle assured him as Bodie's hand found one of his and guided it to his fly, rubbing it against the bulging corduroy. ''Bloody hell Bodie, what you keeping in there?''

''Frustration'' said Bodie emphatically ''You, Raymond my old son, are about to get well and truly shafted. Hope you're not thinking of taking the bike out after this.''

''Bloody hell Bodie. I need to be able to walk.''

''Not for another day you don't.'' Bodie eased himself out of his clothing, keeping a weather eye on the now frankly skittish Doyle.

''I don't want to get hurt mate'' said Doyle.

''Might be a bit sore, won't be hurt.'' Bodie's reassurance was less than Doyle had hoped for.

''This might be a bit much for me, wasn't thinking quite so full throttle.''

''You'll be fine'' Bodie assured him, his fingers already sliding round Doyle's arse. Bloody hell this was actually going to happen. Bodie was going to take him, whatever he said, no choice, no say, and he wanted to say no, stop, not like this. But what if he said it and Bodie really didn't listen, what if Bodie just held him down, what happened to all the moonlight then?

''Ray?...Ray?...You still with me?''

''I...Bodie I'm not ready for this. Whatever this is. I'm not ready...not the rough stuff...''

''Hey... alright mate...thought you might like a bit of the macho...some of the birds get off on it...didn't mean to scare you. Bloody hell I did scare you didn't I?''

It took a lot for Doyle to make that small hesitant nod. A lot.

''Hey...Nothing you don't want mate...Not ever'' said Bodie ''Got this a bit wrong. Thought you'd want the show, you know, proof of intent. Commitment like.''

Doyle snorted, relief flooding through him in a tangle of tears and laughter. ''That your idea of commitment? Rape?''

''I'm not a bloody rapist. But some of the birds they like the rough. Makes 'em feel, I dunno, like I mean it I suppose. You'd have to ask them.''

''Yeah, because you never do.''

''Give people what they want, don't I? Don't bloody analyse it to death.''

''Like honeysuckle round the door? That what this is? You want me to be happy so you'll promise whatever it takes? Sodding hell Bodie, I thought we were past this.''

''Told you I had no idea what I was doing. I'm no good at this. You're the one that does commitment. It's never worked out too well for me, not with anything. You play to your strengths. We all do. It's not that I've never wanted what you're talking about, it's just I've never seen meself being able to get there.''

''Not making your other half think he's about to get raped might be a good start.''

''Yeah, well, like I said, thought it's what you'd wan....'other half'?''

''Too much?'' Doyle's voice was uncertain. He waited as Bodie turned the concept over in his mind, sitting up on the bed so that all Doyle could see was his back. Doyle felt something lurch in his stomach and he wished it was because he was going to be sick again. The soft hearted sod was looking for a gentle way to let him down.

''Nah'' said Bodie, back still to Doyle ''it's bloody beautiful mate. Never belonged to anyone like that. No one I got to keep. Bloody hell. Talk about brave new world.'' Bodie's voice was a little rough and when he turned back his eyes were bright. ''That's us then is it? Two halves?''

''Yeah'' said Doyle and pulled him back down to where he could be held and made to believe. ''That's what I've been trying to get through that thick Scouse noggin. That's us.''

END

 

 

[Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah)

[The Magic_Roundabout](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Magic_Roundabout) _''Time for bed, said Zebedee''_

 [Brief Encounter](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brief_Encounter)


End file.
